Consequences
by Olive Drab
Summary: Hawkeye and BJ thought they'd made the right decision for all the right reasons, but now it's coming back to haunt them.
1. Chapter 1

**Consequences**

**Chapter One**

"Anyway, the fire department eventually got it out with the help of some goose grease, and that was that. He's going to be mighty tender for a while, but other than that he's just fine. And so is the cockerel."

Lounging comfortably on his cot, legs stretched out and ankles crossed, Hawkeye grinned. Home always seemed a little closer when he was reading his father's stories of the everyday dramas going on back in Crabapple Cove.

He looked up as the door opened, and his smile evaporated as BJ Hunnicutt came in, bringing with him a blast of cold air. BJ looked grey-faced and exhausted. He slumped down on the edge of his own cot without bothering to take off his parka, and buried his head in his gloved hands.

"Damn," he whispered.

"What is it?" asked Hawkeye, putting down the letter and swinging his feet to the floor.

BJ dropped his hands and met Hawkeye's concerned eyes. "Private Marshall. I really thought he was okay, Hawk. I thought he was out of the woods. One minute he was talking to me, saying how he was looking forward to getting home, and then….." He sighed and shook his head as if struggling to accept what had happened. "He had a heart attack right there in front of me. I tried everything to bring him back, but I guess the shock and the strain of his injuries was just too much for his body to handle." BJ's gaze slid from Hawkeye's face and he stared at the floor. "Damn," he whispered again.

Hawkeye understood BJ's quiet despair. Losing a man on the operating table was bad enough, but losing someone you thought you had managed to save - someone you were starting to get to know - that was as unfair as taking a knockout blow after the bell, when you thought the fight was over and your guard was down.

"Beej, I saw the state that guy was in when he came in last night," he said. "If it hadn't been for you, he would never have left the OR alive. You did the best you could, and that's a hell of a lot better than most people. But you can't work miracles. None of us can." He reached across to grip BJ's shoulder. "Keep the energy you're using to question why you couldn't save this life, and use it to save the next one."

There was the trace of a smile on BJ's tired face. "Isn't that what Colonel Potter said to you, after he pulled you off Marshall's buddy in the compound last night?"

Hawkeye's lips tightened as he remembered pounding at the wounded soldier's chest like a man possessed, refusing to give up until the colonel had placed a hand on his arm and gently ordered him to stop.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "It was good advice then and it's good advice now." He stood up and reached for his coat and scarf. "Come on," he said. "You'll feel better after some food."

"In this place, that would be a first," said BJ, following him out of the tent.

Hawkeye sniffed and looked up at the sky as they crossed the compound. "Hey, it must be getting warmer," he said. "I can smell the garbage dump again. Most of that stuff's been as solid as an iceberg for months."

"Great," said BJ. "The wonderful aroma of springtime in Korea. To be followed by the sweltering heat of summertime in Korea, then the depressing gloom of fall in Korea, the freezing cold of winter in Korea, and before you know it another year's gone and we're still here."

"No, I mean it," said Hawkeye. "Today was the first morning I couldn't see my own breath."

"Dragonbreath," muttered BJ, and Hawkeye looked at him, an amused, mock-indignant expression on his face.

"Excuse me? Is that some kind of criticism of my dental hygiene? Because if it is, I could make a few comments about the fragrant feet I have to share a tent with."

BJ laughed. "When I was little, we used to call the first really cold morning of each winter Dragonbreath Day. I thought it was so cool to go around breathing "smoke". For a couple of years I honestly believed that if I blew hard enough, one day I would be able to make fire like a real dragon."

Hawkeye smiled as they walked on, relieved that his friend's mood seemed to be lightening.

They were late for lunch, and most people were finishing their meal even as Hawkeye and BJ were starting theirs. The last few stragglers drifted off as they ate, and by the time they were finishing off with coffee the two surgeons had the mess tent to themselves. BJ cupped his hands around his mug and stared into the rising steam. He was still exhausted, but the hollow feeling in his stomach had retreated.

"Amazingly enough, I do feel better for eating whatever that was," he said. "But then, it's just occurred to me that the last meal I had was breakfast yesterday."

Hawkeye was dissecting the remains of his own meal and peering closely at parts of it as if performing a post-mortem. He looked up. "Yesterday? You're kidding. How did you manage that?"

"I dunno. I guess I was busy this time yesterday, and then I was just about to eat in the evening when the wounded came in, and I was in post-op at breakfast time." He shrugged. "You know how crazy it gets round here sometimes."

"Wait a minute," said Hawkeye. "You were still finishing up when I left the OR last night, and I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. And I haven't seen you all morning. Don't tell me you were in post-op all night?"

"Not all night – I couldn't sleep and I went over a few times to check on Marshall."

"Beej, we have the best nurses in Korea and a duty roster of the finest doctors you could wish for, present company included. You have to stop trying to do it all!" Hawkeye was exasperated with his friend, but BJ simply nodded.

"Yeah, right," he said. "And these wise words are from the man who had to be scooped off the floor and carried out of OR on a stretcher after he gave blood how many times in one week?"

Hawkeye reached over and took BJ's mug from him. "I'm serious. You're no use to anyone if you're walking around looking worse off than this……" he gestured at his tray but was unable to reliably name the contents, "…….well, worse off than this. Come on back to the Swamp and I'll lull you to sleep with my dad's latest epic."

BJ started to protest half-heartedly, then fell silent as an unfamiliar figure appeared in the doorway. The tall young man peered around as if looking for something or someone. He wore captain's bars and his hair was blond above a thin, intense face.

"You two Pierce and Hunnicutt?" he asked. When they nodded, he came over to them. "They told me I might find you here. Name's Chris Barker – you've got some of my boys in your ward over there."

Hawkeye and BJ shook his hand and introduced themselves. Barker sat down and BJ fetched them all fresh coffee, ignoring Hawkeye's reproachful glance.

"If I'd known you were here, I'd have come to find you myself," said BJ, taking a seat next to the new arrival. "I worked on Private Marshall. I really thought he was going to be all right, but…"

Barker held up a hand. "I'm not here to give you grief, Doc. I spoke to the nurse on duty, and I know you did everything you could, just like your friend here tried his damndest to save Corporal Shaw last night. But there's three more of my men who are alive because of you and your colleagues, and I wanted to thank you before I left."

"Marshall told me a bit about Corporal Shaw," said BJ, sipping his coffee. "They seemed pretty close."

"Yeah, it was funny seeing them together sometimes. There must have been fifteen years between them, but they really hit it off, kind of like a father and son team. Lots of joking going on, but they always looked out for each other, y'know? I can't believe they're both gone – it's hit the rest of the guys hard." He paused. "I've only been a captain for a few weeks. These are the first men I've lost. It's gonna take some getting used to."

"Pray you never do," said BJ, and Barker gave him a sharp look.

"Listen," he said hesitantly. "I need to ask you both something, and I'm not sure how to go about it."

"If it's something medical, or to do with your men's injuries, just ask," said BJ. "We'll help if we can. But if you're looking for military advice, the local plant life probably knows more about strategy than we do."

"I know how to run away," offered Hawkeye. "And my surrendering skills are legendary in these parts. I can do things with a white flag and a stick that you wouldn't believe."

Barker nodded, but he didn't smile at their attempts to put him at ease. "Well, it's like I said; I only just got promoted. And these guys – Marshall and Shaw – it's gonna look bad on my first monthly report. And I was wondering if … well, if you could maybe make it so they didn't die for a couple more days. Officially, I mean. Then my first month would be clean."

It was suddenly very still in the mess tent.

"Clean?" said BJ into the silence, hoping that his tired brain had somehow misinterpreted what he thought he'd just heard.

"Yeah. If the certificates show they died after the sixteenth then I'll have gone my first month without losing any men." He somehow made the whole thing sound like a practical, reasonable proposition.

BJ opened his mouth but found himself unable to form words. Then he felt Hawkeye's foot tap against his own under the table, and an unspoken message passed between them. He forced himself to nod slowly as if considering Barker's idea, then passed the baton. "What do you reckon, Hawk?"

Hawkeye chewed at his lip and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I don't know, Beej. It's not as easy as just changing a date on a piece of paper." He looked at Barker. "I mean, the rest of your men know what happened and when, don't they?"

"Yeah, but they don't need to see the paperwork." Barker visibly relaxed as he sensed a pair of willing co-conspirators. "And my CO signs pretty much whatever I put in front of him. You know what these older guys are like – won't do anything to rock the boat while they count down the days to retirement."

"Yeah, that's true." Hawkeye leaned across the wooden table. "I think I know what you should do, Chris – can I call you Chris?"

"Sure," said Barker, dropping his voice to match Hawkeye's and leaning in until their heads, one blonde and one black, were almost touching. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking," said Hawkeye, very softly. "That if you walk out of here right now, we can all pretend you never made that obscene suggestion. And I'm thinking that I'm on the verge of doing something you would regret for a very long time."

He let the ensuing silence stretch out, not moving and not breaking eye contact with the man opposite him. Barker shifted uncomfortably, impaled by the icy stare.

"Hey, those guys wouldn't mind," he said, a little desperately. "We were buddies. What harm can it do anyone?"

Hawkeye said nothing and Barker, thinking he might still have a chance, made a fatal error. "C'mon, Captain..." he started, and it was as if he had thrown a match into a powder keg. Hawkeye was on his feet in a rush, and Barker sat back so suddenly that he almost fell off the bench.

"Don't call me Captain!" snapped Hawkeye, and his anger seemed to crackle like electricity in the air between them. "I'm a doctor first and last and everything in between, and if you believe holding the same military rank makes us members of some kind of cosy brotherhood then you're way off. How dare you! How dare you believe you can play God with people's lives – with their deaths – just so you can keep a clean scoresheet, as if all this is some kind of game!"

For a second the younger man looked shocked, frightened even, and it seemed as though he might back down, but then his face hardened and twisted into an ugly, knowing smirk.

"Okay, _Doctor_." He made it sound like an insult. "Here's what _I'm_ thinking. I'm thinking about someone I know who heard you two changed the date on a guy's death certificate just a few months ago."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Hawkeye's voice was shaking with fury.

Barker looked at BJ. "Doctor Hunnicutt knows what I'm talking about, don't you Doc? You're looking a little pale."

Hawkeye answered before BJ could speak. "He's pale because he's been up all night looking after your men and because he's just had his first meal in over twenty-four hours," he said, coming round the table to stand beside BJ. "And you shouldn't be looking at him, you should be looking at me, because this is the direction the fist is going to be coming from."

Barker ignored him, challenging BJ directly. "What about it, Doc? Is your conscience clear?"

BJ rose, deliberately standing too close to the seated man so that he towered over him.

"Take my friend's good advice and get out of here," he said slowly and clearly, his disgust evident in every syllable. "Right now. Take your wonderful, shiny new Captain's bars and crawl back into whatever dark hole you came out of. And if you are very, very lucky, you and I will never meet again."

Faced with the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder glaring down on him, Barker had the sense to admit defeat. He slid off the edge of the bench and sidled towards the door like a child who has lost an argument; sullen and defiant but not quite brave enough to turn his back on the enemy.

"You think you're untouchable," he said, stabbing a finger at them. "Just wait. Just you wait." Then he was gone, the door slamming behind him.

BJ let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. "For once the bad taste in my mouth is nothing to do with lunch," he said. "Still, talk about dragonbreath – you certainly singed his ears for him."

Hawkeye sat down heavily and unclenched the fists he hadn't been aware of making. He stared down at his hands. "Never mind his ears - if he'd stayed in here another ten seconds, you'd have had to prise these from around his throat."

"I think I might have found a reason to look the other way," replied BJ. Then he put into words what they were both thinking. "Hawkeye, is he right? Is what we did so different?"

Hawkeye looked up at him. "God, I hope so," he said quietly.

"What do you think we should do?"

"I think we should speak to the Colonel."

…………**. to be continued ……………**


	2. Chapter 2

**Consequences**

**Chapter Two**

As Hawkeye and BJ came into the office (which also doubled as the mailroom, the typing pool, his sleeping quarters and the telephone exchange), Klinger tried to hide his magazine under an untidy pile of paperwork.

"Amateur Seamstress?" said Hawkeye, tilting his head to read the title. "Klinger, I thought you'd given all that up."

"Hey, everyone needs a hobby," said Klinger indignantly. "And you didn't seem to mind when I fixed the zipper on your pants last month. You nearly had a lot more showing than the edge of your slip. I reckon my nifty needlework saved you from frostbite right where you least want it."

"Forget I ever spoke," said Hawkeye. "Both I and the women of the world are eternally in your debt."

BJ was fidgeting. "I'd love to know where this conversation might end up," he said, "But we really need to see the Colonel, Klinger. Is he in?"

"Yeah. He asked me to put a call through to his wife a while back, but I think he's done now. Go on in."

Hawkeye pushed through the door. "Didn't see you at lunch, Colonel, although we were a bit late ourselves…..." He stopped so suddenly that BJ nearly trod on his heels.

Colonel Potter cleared his throat and sat up straight behind the desk, but not before both men had seen him sitting there with shoulders slumped, head in hands and glasses dangling forgotten from his fingers. And there was no hiding the redness in his eyes or the raw anguish on his face.

BJ was in front of the desk in two long strides, his own problems forgotten. "Colonel, what is it? What's happened?"

"I just had to make what I sincerely hope turns out to be the most difficult phonecall of my life," said Potter quietly, rubbing his glasses briefly on a sleeve before putting them on. For once the years were evident, on his face and in his voice.

"Is your wife ill? Are _you_ ill?"

"No, no, we're both fine. Well, that's a relative term, I guess." The colonel went across to the liquor cabinet. "Would you boys care for a drink? Lord knows I could use one. And much as I hate to lay more doom and gloom on anyone round here, I could sure do with some company."

Hawkeye stuck his head back out through the door, telling Klinger to hold all phone calls and not to let anyone into the office. BJ pulled two chairs around and they sat, exchanging a worried glance as the colonel poured out three generous measures of bourbon.

"Colonel, you can bend our ears until they meet themselves coming back – you know that." Hawkeye wasn't smiling.

Potter turned the glass between his palms, watching light reflect off the golden liquid. "I never told you about my brother, did I?" he said.

They both shook their heads. The colonel spoke with love and pride about his wife, their home and his grandchildren, but he tended to keep his deepest thoughts private. Very few of the people at the 4077th knew much about his personal history.

"I had an older brother called Albert," said Potter. "Seven years older than me. He was killed in the fighting in France in July 1918, on the River Marne. He was twenty-four, I was seventeen. It took them two weeks to find out which part of the line I was in so they could let me know he was dead."

"Colonel……," started Hawkeye, and then realised he didn't know how to continue. An unwelcome image came to him, of a scared young man in a damp, mud-spattered uniform, shocked eyes wide in a pale face, sitting on the step of a trench while an officer crouched in front of him and tried to find the words to tell him his beloved brother was gone.

The colonel continued in a low voice, almost speaking to himself. "Albert had a wife, Sarah, and a two year old son named Joe. Sarah was seven months pregnant when Albert died, and they named the baby after the father he never met. Sarah's parents wanted her to move in with them, but she was determined to stay in her own house and bring up the two boys by herself, and she did a wonderful job. You never saw two closer brothers, or two finer boys." He smiled distantly. "Time passed as they say; my parents passed away and so did Sarah's. I married Mildred, and she and Sarah hit it off from the moment they met. We were always round at Sarah's place, or she and the boys were visiting us, especially after our own children came along – it was like we were one family. When Joe got married in '38, I was as proud as any father."

He paused and took a sip of his drink, rolling it around his mouth while he allowed himself a few more seconds reliving those precious days. "And then World War Two came along, and I went and so did both Sarah's boys, of course. But only one came home. Joe died at Iwo Jima in February of '45. We did our best to be there for Sarah, but it was terrible for her. If it hadn't been for Albert Junior, I don't know how she would have made it through. I think she felt guilty that he stayed at home and never married, but she was grateful too. Joe's wife moved away and remarried a few years later. They don't keep in touch. Too painful for everyone, I suppose."

A deep sigh. "And then this morning….."

"Albert Junior," whispered BJ, his heart sinking as he realised the awful, inevitable ending to the colonel's story.

Colonel Potter nodded slowly. "This morning I heard that my second nephew, Albert Junior, was wounded in the fighting, not very far from here. He died at the 8063rd. His CO knew I was stationed here and thought I might like to be the one to – well, you know. Tomorrow I'm going to pick up his things from the 8063rd so I can send them back home to Sarah with a note, if I can find any words. And right now, my wife…." He faltered for a second. "…..my wife is driving over to Sarah's house. It was hard enough breaking the news to Mildred, but for her to have to…." He rubbed at his eyes behind his glasses.

"She wouldn't want Sarah to hear it from anyone else, Colonel," said BJ, cursing the casual way in which war – all wars – tore apart the lives of ordinary, decent people. "And neither would you."

Potter stared at the wall, blinking hard. "I almost wish….."

"No, you don't." Hawkeye interrupted him. BJ looked at his friend, startled by the harsh note in his voice, but Hawkeye had anticipated where this was going and he didn't like it one bit. "No, you don't, because then it would be Sarah driving to your house, and Mildred getting the knock on the door, and I can't believe you'd really want that."

Anger flashed in the colonel's eyes for a moment, to be replaced by a complex mixture of gratitude and pain. "I guess you're right," he said. "It's just…. that poor woman. She lost Albert in the mud in France, Joe on a jungle island in the Pacific, and now Albert Junior on a bright spring day here in Korea. He was the only one of them to make it past the age of thirty." He sounded utterly drained. "Do you think there will ever be a generation of women who don't have to watch their husbands, brothers and sons go off to fight in a war on the other side of the world?"

"I don't know," said Hawkeye softly, honestly, and there were no more words from any of them for a while.

The colonel pulled a large handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose He folded the cloth carefully and put it away, then took a deep breath in and out, as if fresh air in his lungs would help him to make a fresh start. He reached for the bottle and topped up their drinks, and when he spoke, his voice was strong and steady.

"Thank you, boys. I just needed to talk that through out loud before it burned me up from the inside. But you didn't come in here to hold your CO's hand. What did you want to see me about?"

"It's nothing, Colonel," said BJ hurriedly, and in truth it seemed like nothing after what they had just heard.

"Our bad day suddenly seems like a church picnic," agreed Hawkeye.

Potter gave them a stern look. "The day I can't be there for my men when they need help or advice is the day they put me out to pasture. Out with it."

BJ glanced at Hawkeye, who nodded his agreement, and between them they told their story, starting with Shaw dying beneath Hawkeye's hands the previous night, then Marshall losing his fight for life that morning and ending with their encounter with Barker in the mess tent. The colonel listened with mounting anger, and he almost welcomed the fierce emotion as it replaced the dull, numbing grief in his heart.

BJ shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "You know, Colonel, much as I wanted to bury that guy head-down in the cesspool, I'm feeling more than a bit of a hypocrite here."

"Your Christmas Day casualty?" asked Potter, surprising them both. "The one you turned into a December 26th casualty, I mean. Brannigan, wasn't it?"

"Flannigan," said BJ. "Denny Flannigan." It was a name he would remember for the rest of his days, just as he would never forget the struggle to keep the man alive past midnight so that his children wouldn't remember every Christmas Day as the anniversary of their father's death. And he remembered how they had so nearly succeeded. And he remembered the expression on Hawkeye's face as he had opened the cover of the clock on the wall, moved the hands to 12:05 and said "Look, he made it."

"That's right," said Hawkeye, catching BJ's eye and reading his thoughts. "But Colonel, how did you know about that?"

"You told me what you were trying to do, remember? And your faces when I met you coming out of pre-op told me all I needed to know about whether you'd managed it. When the death certificate landed on my desk, I didn't need to be a genius to put two and two together. Yes, I know what you did, and I should tell you it troubled my conscience too. For all of thirty seconds."

"I just accused Barker of trying to play God, but isn't that exactly what we did that night?" said Hawkeye. "Where's the difference?"

Potter considered for a moment. "I don't know about playing God; you'd need to speak to the padre about that. But let me tell you the difference as I see it. Imagine if, six months or a year or even ten years down the line, Sarah discovered that a doctor had changed the details on the death certificate for her husband or one of her sons. She'd be confused and most likely very angry, and rightly so. Imagine discovering you've been putting flowers on your loved one's grave on the wrong day for years. But what if she then found out that the doctor had done what he did because he wanted to spare her a little of the pain she'll feel for the rest of her life? Don't you think she might feel grateful towards that doctor, maybe not straight away, but eventually? On the other hand, if his only reason had been personal gain - to look good in the eyes of his superiors, perhaps - well, I think she would have been angry for the rest of her life." He looked each of them in the eye. "By any measure of humanity, what you did was a good thing."

BJ nodded, reassured, but Hawkeye had picked up something in the colonel's voice. "But…?" he prompted.

"Doing a good thing isn't always the same as doing the right thing, especially in the eyes of the military," said the colonel, choosing his words carefully. "Once you bend the rules – rules which are there to protect everybody and to prevent exactly this type of situation – you're taking the first step onto a very slippery slope. If a man dies on his wife's birthday, or the day his first child is born, is there any harm in changing the date then? Before you know it, you could be asking yourself whether some of the other details we give to the next of kin need to be absolutely accurate."

"The army makes those decisions all the time for relatives," said Hawkeye angrily. "_Killed in action; died of wounds_ – those don't tell half the story. Maybe, in the interests of honesty, we should be saying 'your husband bled to death alone in a foxhole after his leg was blown off, and the medics couldn't reach him.' Or 'your son's wounds were survivable but we were snowed under that day and the guy before him took just a little longer than expected on the operating table.' Hell, maybe we should even send pictures..." He broke off, mentally calling himself every name under the sun as he remembered Sarah Potter.

"That's enough, Pierce," said Potter, and without raising his voice he drew a line which even Hawkeye wouldn't cross. "My point is, although I happen to believe that you did the right thing on this one occasion, and that you were acting in the interests of Flannigan's children, consider this. Who decides at what age, if ever, it's right to tell a child that he's adopted, or that one of his parents committed suicide? Or say a mother dies when she haemorrhages giving birth to a baby – do you tell the child the truth later on, or do you let him keep on believing that his mom got ill and died when he was very little?"

"I would think those sorts of decisions should be made by the next of kin," Hawkeye said.

"But Brannigan's wife didn't get to make that decision for her children," said BJ softly. "We did it for her." He found himself picturing his own wife. Would he want someone to do that for her, and for Erin? Suddenly his earlier tiredness returned as if a heavy blanket had been thrown over him.

"Well, maybe you need to think about that a bit more and maybe you don't – that's between you and your consciences," said Potter. He got to his feet and put the bottle back in the liquor cabinet. "What's done is done. Either this lowlife Barker will take things further or he won't, but beating ourselves up over things we can't change won't make this day better for any of us." With a sharp tug at his jacket, he consigned his grief to a deep, hidden place where it could be kept at bay until he was ready to deal with it on his own terms and in his own time. "And now I'm going to toss some horseshoes and clear my head. Care to join me?"

Hawkeye stood up and drained the last drops of his drink. He looked down at BJ, noting the fatigue on his friend's face. "Sure," he said. "Come on, Beej, what do you say we let the colonel beat us a few times and then grab a nap before dinner?"

BJ roused himself, following the others' example. "Do I have to?" he said. "I mean, I'm all for the horseshoes and the nap, but I'm not sure I can handle dinner. I think I know where the owners of those shoes end up."

"Hey, where _do_ you get those horseshoes from, Colonel?" asked Hawkeye innocently. "Is there a cavalry troop somewhere with you on its most wanted list?"

Potter laughed and headed for the door, but BJ's voice, suddenly serious again, made him pause. "Colonel? One more thing. Margaret and Father Mulcahy – whatever happens, they had no part in what went on that night, okay?"

"Sure," said Potter, looking at him shrewdly. "In spite of everything I've said, you'd do the same thing again, wouldn't you?"

"Given the same circumstances, you bet," said BJ without hesitation, and as he said it he knew it was the truth and his spirits lifted a little. "What about you, Hawk?"

"In a heartbeat," replied Hawkeye.

…………**. to be continued ……………**

_A/N: That became a little more angsty than I would have liked, but somehow I couldn't help it – I'd like to know if you think it was all too slow and talky or not. Be honest; constructive criticism is always welcome! I promise the next (and final) chapter will be a lot lighter. And yes, I know I said to some of you there would only be two chapters, but there's a little more to come……_


	3. Chapter 3

**Consequences**

**Chapter Three**

As he wrapped the last piece of plaster-soaked bandage around the sergeant's leg, Hawkeye hoped the man's date had been worth it. He had driven his jeep into a ditch in the early hours, trying to get back to camp before he was missed, and had sustained a knock on the head and a bad fracture. Hawkeye called for the corpsmen to carry the man to post-op, thanked the nurse who had been assisting him and threw his gloves and apron into the bin. Then he spent five minutes scrubbing splashes of sticky, fast-setting plaster off his face and arms. Shrugging into his parka, he pushed open the door and blinked, momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight. _What a beautiful morning_, he thought, stepping outside and gazing up at the cloudless sky, and he just couldn't stop himself. He took a deep breath, threw his arms out theatrically and burst into song, drawing amused looks from people passing by. "There's a bright golden haze on the minefield; there's a bright golden haze on the minefield……."

"Do they have minefields in Oklahoma?" said BJ coming up behind him. He had been on the morning shift in post-op and had just been relieved by Charles.

Hawkeye grinned at him, his spirits as high as the proverbial elephant's eye. "We're not in Oklahoma any more, Toto. I'm working on a local version, called Oh-Korea. I haven't got past the first line yet, but come see it on Broadway after the war – it'll be huge. How was your shift?"

"Quiet, mostly," said BJ as they strolled across the compound. "I got talking to those three guys under Barker's command, trying to find out a bit more about him. They talked pretty well of him on the surface, but…" he paused, frowning.

"But what?"

"I dunno. I got the feeling there was a lot more that they weren't telling me. When I started to ask questions, they made it clear they didn't want to say any more - out of loyalty I guess, or because they weren't sure about me."

Hawkeye refused to have his day spoiled by Barker for a second time. "Well, I'm not going to worry about all that this morning. The sun is out, the sky is blue – Spring has well and truly sprung."

"Please don't sing again", said BJ hurriedly. "We've had complaints from the local wildlife. Anyway, it may be a fine day, but you know what they say: _Ne'er cast a clout till May be out_."

The look Hawkeye gave his friend suggested that he was mentally measuring him for a straitjacket. "They say that, do they? And how much have they had to drink when they say that?"

"It's an old English proverb. My aunt used to quote it to us every Spring without fail," said BJ, enjoying Hawkeye's bafflement. "It means don't be fooled into taking off your winter underclothes on the first warm day of the year. Clout is clothes, you see?"

"Uh-huh." Hawkeye was less than convinced. "And tell me, is that the same relative who had you believing you could breathe fire?"

"Yeah, my aunt Harriet. She was a bit strange." BJ considered for a moment. "My little niece – my sister's daughter – is a lot like her, I think."

Hawkeye's eyes narrowed as he began to wonder if he was being fooled with. "And your aunt's name would be Harriet Hunnicutt?"

"Yeah - well, until she got married."

"Just to get rid of that name I should think."

BJ grinned. "Hardly. He was called Harrison."

"No way," said Hawkeye decisively. "No way am I falling for that. I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid."

"It's true - I swear on my beloved Aunt Harriet Hunnicutt-Harrison's grave!" BJ was a picture of wide-eyed innocence.

They were still arguing and laughing when they got to the Swamp. Hawkeye lifted two empty coffee mugs and waved them inquiringly at BJ who nodded, then peered more closely at his friend.

"Is that paint in your hair?""

"Plaster," said Hawkeye, scratching absently at the spots of white which stood out against his dark hair. "You can never get it all. I need to find a nurse to come into the shower and dig it out of all those hard-to-reach places." He grinned as he handed BJ a drink. "I remember my Dad sitting at the kitchen table, picking this stuff off his shoes for hours after setting a fracture at his clinic. Mom always refused to do it for him, saying he should be more careful. Later, whenever he was giving me hell for getting covered in mud or ink or any of the other things kids get in a mess with, I just had to mention plaster and we'd both end up laughing."

BJ took a sip of his coffee and closed his eyes in bliss. "Ooh, that's just what I needed," he said. "You talk about your Dad all the time, and I've heard you mention your mother of course, but what about other relatives? I bet you're part of a huge family of oddballs and eccentrics."

"No", said Hawkeye, sitting on the edge of his cot and cupping his hands around his mug "It's just Dad and me. My grandparents all died before I was born, and my mom and dad were both only children. It explains a lot, I suppose – the entire quota of Pierce insanity is shared between just the two of us." He paused. "I know my Dad would like grandkids, but as things stand at the moment, this particular branch of the family tree stops with me, I guess…." He broke off at the sound of a jeep pulling into the compound. "Hey, the colonel's back."

"Charles saw him going off as soon as it was light this morning," said BJ. "He asked me if I knew why the colonel was making 'a quick visit to the 8063rd', as he put it."

"What did you tell him?"

"I said I didn't know. I figured it's a private matter and it's up to the colonel to decide who knows how much." He peered outside. "He's going across to his tent. Do you think we should go over there?"

"Let's give him a few minutes," said Hawkeye, pouring them each a refill.

About ten minutes later there was a knock on the door and Colonel Potter came in. He had the grimly satisfied look of a man who has just completed an unpleasant job. Hawkeye put a steaming mug into his hand before he could ask and he nodded thanks, taking a seat.

"Winchester about anywhere?" he asked, glancing around the tent

Hawkeye shook his head. "On duty. How did it go?"

"Let's just say it wasn't the happiest trip of my life. I've said my goodbyes and brought back the lad's personal effects." He looked down into his coffee and scowled. "Pretty depressing, being handed someone's life in a box like that."

"His real life was back home," said BJ. "That's where he was loved and that's where all the memories are. What you have in the box are things that are nice to hold onto and to remember him by, but they aren't his life."

Potter nodded. "I know. It's still going to be difficult writing that letter, though. But I have some other news for you. While I was at the 8063rd I came across a man named Barker."

"Not our valiant Captain from yesterday?" BJ was incredulous. "It's a small war."

"Not small enough," muttered Hawkeye.

The colonel looked at him sharply. "What's that in your hair, Pierce?"

"Fossilised dandruff. I guess I should shower more often." Hawkeye looked suddenly anxious and rubbed at his hair, making it stick up at alarming angles. "Unless it's confetti. Hey, Beej - I didn't get married during the night and not remember, did I?"

BJ shook his head, grinning. "If you did, I wasn't invited."

"Right," said Potter slowly. He was accustomed to having strange, disjointed conversations with these two. "Anyway, this was your friend's father, one General David Barker. He's something high up and hush-hush in the Department of Defense, and he's over here on a fact-finding mission."

"Big shoes to fill," commented BJ.

"Too big, from what I could gather. I came across General Barker in the mess tent and we chatted over coffee for a while. He asked me about this place, and he listened to what I had to say. Seemed like a pretty level-headed man who knows his stuff and cares about what people are going through out here. He mentioned that his son's outfit was in action not far from here, so I asked whether he was related to the Captain Barker who visited us yesterday. He told me he was, and then he said he could tell from my face that the visit hadn't gone well."

Hawkeye and BJ exchanged a glance. "I guess that put you in kind of an awkward situation," said Hawkeye carefully.

"Right," said Potter, holding out his glass for a refill. "You don't go sounding off to another guy about his son at the best of times, but this was a general. If I read him wrong, he could have made things difficult for all of us."

"What did you do?" asked BJ.

"He could see I wasn't sure what to do, and he assured me that anything I said was off the record. Then he told me a few things about his son. It seems that Captain Barker's trying so hard to be his father that he's forgetting his responsibilities to the men under his command. The general wasn't specific, but I got the impression that there have been a few reports which have made him less than proud of his son. There's even some sort of question mark about how his promotion to Captain came about; something about taking the credit for another man's actions."

"I _thought_ his men were acting cagey when I spoke to them," said BJ.

"Well, the general was honest with me, so I decided to trust him. I told him everything that went on yesterday, and about your act of Christmas kindness. He didn't say anything; just listened and then changed the subject." The colonel paused and looked at the two doctors, who were as tense as runners waiting for the starting gun. "I started to think I'd made a big mistake but then he told me I was lucky to have good men in my outfit. 'A little impulsive maybe, but good men' is how he put it. And the upshot is that Barker Senior will find an excuse to visit his son's outfit in the next couple of days, and a few quiet words will be exchanged. You're in the clear."

If he'd been expecting whoops of joy and general backslapping, Potter would have been disappointed. BJ slumped back against the pillows on his bunk and blew out a long breath. Hawkeye nodded thoughtfully. "We really appreciate you sticking your neck out for us like that, Colonel," he said.

"Not a problem," said the colonel. "Although I'd appreciate it if you don't put me in a position like that again – at least until my blood pressure gets back to normal." He sipped at his coffee and licked his lips thoughtfully. "Strange, isn't it? My nephew Albert was as close to me as any son, and yet there seemed to be such a distance between this man Barker and his own boy. Funny things, families."

"Twelve thousand miles apart in the same room," said Hawkeye absently, and then realised he'd spoken aloud and was getting uncomprehending looks from the others. "Something somebody said to me about fathers and sons once," he explained. He had shared a conversation of rare honesty with Charles about their respective fathers, but it was a conversation that remained just between the two of them. "Anyway, if you're looking for strange families, look no further than this man." He waved an arm towards BJ. "He has relatives with impossible names who told him he was a dragon when he was young, and instructed him in bizarre English rituals involving underwear."

The colonel looked even more puzzled, but BJ laughed and shrugged. "What can I say? It's all true. But surely Klinger has to take the prize for the most weird and wonderful family. That guy must have a hundred uncles, most of whom seem to be either in jail or involved in some very suspect business practices."

Potter smiled, warming to the topic. "That's true. Then you've got Father Mulcahy's sister, the basketball playing nun."

"Frank Burns had a relationship with his mother I wouldn't want to know too much about," added BJ.

"There's a whole obstacle course of baggage between Margaret and her dad," said Hawkeye. "And I never quite understood how things worked between Radar's mum and his 'Uncle' Ed. I know they weren't brother and sister."

Potter laughed. "You know, I always thought there was something there too, but I never had the courage to ask Radar about it. Hell, it probably never even occurred to him that they might have been more than friends." He finished his drink and put down the glass. "Well, no matter how crazy our families are, I guess the important thing is that we all make it home to them. And that we try to do our best for the families of those who aren't so lucky. Seems to me that you two try the hardest of all, which is why you threw that young idiot out on his ear yesterday, and why you worked so hard for Denny Flannigan last Christmas." He stood up and headed for the door. "Well, I think I've got an idea of what to put in my letter to Sarah now, so I'll get to it while it's fresh in my mind. Oh, and Pierce?"

"What?"

"Sort out that mess in your hair. You look like you've escaped from a snow globe. I swear I don't know anyone else who can get into such a state doing a simple job like plastering a fracture. And what's so funny?"

Hawkeye's smile got even wider. "Nothing. I'll get right on it, Dad."

**The End**


End file.
